


Love bites

by qwertysweetea



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Galahad instigates, Hand Jobs, Hannibal Extended Universe, Kissing, Love Bites, M/M, Mild Kink, Neck Kissing, Non-Explicit, Porn with Feelings, Rough Kissing, Smut, a little fluff, and then doms the fuck out of that situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 11:47:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13612731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwertysweetea/pseuds/qwertysweetea
Summary: Tristan’s collar would be high enough to cover the line of bruises he planned to leave there. Not that it would matter to Galahad, whether or not Tristan planned on replaying the favour. It would be strange after a night away from his room if he didn’t reconvene with at least a few signs that the night had been worth it. And Tristan, well, he was sure everyone would be just ecstatic to find out he was just as human as the rest of them.His teeth sunk in hard and Tristan dissolved in his armsNot-to-explicit, but still completely shameless, King Arthur smut in which Galahad instigates and turns out to be a total dom. Tristan isn't complaining.





	Love bites

**Author's Note:**

> I've challenged myself to write smut for years and always chicken out so this time I just... went for it. Not very explicit but there's a first time for everything. Baby steps.
> 
> Follows _Locked out_ but it's not something you need to read.

_The mattress shifted behind him. Tristan didn’t know how long either of them had sat in silence before the other’s chilled hands slipped back onto his sides. “It’s too early to be up, even for you.”_

_“Are you asking me to come back to bed?” Tristan huffed, half disbelief and half humour._

_Galahad replied with a single breathy laugh, pressing his forehead into the back of Tristan’s shoulder with it._

_“Because I will, if you’re honest with me.”_

_Another pause. Galahad waited for his question._

_“How did you get locked out of your room?”_

_“I lost my key.” The other mumbled back, forehead slowly peeling off of him only to be replaced by his lips._

_The kiss was simple, close-mouthed and sweet, like the type that is placed on the wounds of people they love when they’re wishing them better. Tristan shuddered against it, relishing in the sudden tightness of the others encompassing arms and the chest pressed, once again, flush against his back in retaliation to his twitches._

_“Your key?” Tristan mused. “You mean like the one digging into my back.”_

_At that, Galahad lifted his head off the other’s shoulder and looked down his front. Taking in the thin leather cord tied around his neck and the key trapped between their bodies, he smiled._

.

They sat there for a while, with the realisation settling in and Galahad admiring the very kissable neck just inches from his lips.

Tristan’s collar would be high enough to cover the line of bruises he planned to leave there. Not that it would matter to Galahad, whether or not Tristan planned on replaying the favour. It would be strange after a night away from his room if he didn’t reconvene with at least a few signs that the night had been worth it. And Tristan, well, he was sure everyone would be just ecstatic to find out he was just as human as the rest of them.

His teeth sunk in hard and Tristan dissolved in his arms with a whimsical-sounding sigh. It was a calculated move and Galahad heard himself give off a low, quiet groan at its success. He gave an exceptionally harsh suck to the other’s flesh, bringing out a purple tinge in the violent red of the bite. The other’s breath hitched as he let go, letting out a low growl at the dull ache Galahad had left behind, spreading out and down into the muscle.

There was no time to revel in it. Galahad worked on the next, and the next, and the next, trailing them higher and higher until he got to his jaw. There was a stutter in his teeth as they landed there, and when they bit down it was light and quick. Their brothers were not as inquisitive as one would expect, but not even they could turn away the chance to question such a perfectly placed suggestion.

Instead he grabbed his jaw with his free hand and turned his head enough to catch his lips over his shoulder. Again a noise left Tristan, lost somewhere in the other’s open mouth.

He thought that this must be how Galahad kissed; lips forceful and tongue already lapping into his mouth, Galahad kissed with an urgency and intimacy that most reserved for their wedding night. He imagined it was the wrong side of forceful of most other people. To him, it felt passionate and desperate, and he fought to match him in enthusiasm as much as in strength and depth.

The knot of discomfort in his stomach that sat heavy from his early morning revelation slowly turned into want, and flared again with the thought. He didn’t know what was more delicious: that Galahad could naturally be perfect for him or that Galahad was showing a side of himself that he showed nobody else.

Tristan dissolved into the urgency the other was pushing into him. The hands on his hips tightened then loosened, weaving their way around his torso, fingertips wracking up and down like he was too desperate to find a way to hold on to be mapping him out. 

His hips developed their own pulsing rhythm back against Galahad’s. Subtle, almost gentle in comparison to their other contact, until a series of short hums vibrated against his tongue, and Galahad's hands were back on his hips, pulling them back into him with a firmness that made Tristan thankful that Galahad was sturdy enough to lean back in to.

The kiss continued, even as his lips ached with the prolonged, violent pressure. The hold on his hops remained tight and the hot press of Galahad's hardness on his lower back only became more obvious with every shift. His whole core felt weak in the best way.

The series of bangs bounded around the room. It yanked Tristan out of his daze enough to recall that he'd locked the door the night before and his lips tingled with the loss of the other's powerful mouth on them. Dagonet’s sleep-thick voice only just pierced through the door. “Tristan, come down for breakfast.”

“Unbelievable.” Galahad groan under his breath, feeling very much inconvenienced and emphasising it with a particularly rough grind of his hips. “Tell him you’ll be there later.” He suggested, smile dancing on his lips as he brought them together for another of his consuming kisses.

Both forgot the reply for that instant, dissolving back into one another until knocks filled the room again.

This time Tristan pulled away with a gentle huff. “I will be with you in a while Dagonet.” His voice came out thick and fluid, full of need. Galahad fingers tensed against his skin as he said it and Tristan could feel the effect it had on him pulsing into the air around them. Galahad liked telling Tristan what to do, and he liked even more that Tristan had done it.

“Come now, I have things to discuss with you.”

“Say you are busy.” Galahad smiled, breath brushing Tristan’s ear as he moved to land open-mouthed kisses along the back of his neck. Cold knuckles brushed his skin as he pushed hair out of the way.

There was no delay in Tristan, “I’m busy.”

“Loader.” This time it was a growl, low like it never left Galahad’s throat. His hand drifted lower, down the expanse of his stomach to ghost at the waistband of his trousers. “I am busy, Dagonet.”

“I am busy, Dagonet.” He replied almost instantly.

“I will be with you shortly.” Galahad prompted, fingers sliding past the barrier barely an inch, spreading their chill against his lower stomach.

“I will be with you shortly.” Tristan mimicked.

“Busy?” The humour in Dagonet's voice was clear. “You won’t fool me into thinking you have any reason to be busy at this hour.”

“Say your company won’t appreciate it.”

Where moments before every part of him felt weak, now it felt alight. The lips on his shoulder, the chest against his back, the silky smooth yet forceful words in his ear, and his hand… his Goddamned wonderful hand working beneath the waistband of his trousers, clumsy and yet still ten times better than he could manage himself. He even managed to make his inexperience look deliberate and himself confident in it. It was infectious.

“Galahad…” He tried to make it sound firm, a warning, but with the younger man’s lips unyielding between his shoulder blades and a gentle warning squeeze it came out like a prayer.

The dexterous fingers of his free hand weaved into Tristan's hair, tightened, and tugged. His head jarred back, making contact with the other’s chest, feeling the rumble of the other’s chesty laugh before he heard or saw it. More mischievous than hostile, it held a type of control and confidence that didn’t in anyway match the boyish quality of Galahad’s features. None of this matched what they thought they knew of him, and yet now seeing it, it was so obvious that this was him.

Galahad had always been cocky and sure of himself; it was easy to mistake for youthful arrogance in place of dominance with a face like his. He'd been mistaken. Galahad was a domineering, controlling, blissfully wonderful man.

The hand on him didn’t falter in their sharp movements, and for the second time Tristan forgot to reply. He felt the strain of his neck and the prickling heat of arousal spreading down his chest, spending it patchy red. The pinching tug on his hair reminded him that Galahad was urging him to do something but his mind was fogged over to what it was.

“Tristan,” and another bang fell once again on deaf ears.

“Say…” Galahad repeated, both hands loosening barely a twitch before tightening again. “…your company won’t appreciate it.”

With considerable effort, Tristan calmed his raging breath and cleared his throat. “My company will not appreciate it too much, my friend.”

“Look at you, wonderful man, your lips all chapped and neck covered in maiden’s marks.” Galahad cooed, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips but not even the gentle bite of his words could make it sound degrading. "Until these fade, you're mine."

If Dagonet left or persisted he wasn’t sure. Tristan wasn’t sure of anything beyond the overwhelming heat in him suddenly releasing, all of his want, _need_ , and feeling that he hadn't felt pooling in his stomach flooding out of him in a few blissful moments.

Galahad's arm tightened around him hard, holding him from doubling over. He bent down, mouth and tongue meeting Tristan’s closed lips, sloppy but fleeting. Tristan reasoned for that moment that Galahad was using it to distract him from wiping his hand off on the furs beside him, but he didn't, _couldn't_ care.

Satisfied, exhausted and completely complacent, he still wanted Galahad's lips on his.

“They’re going to want to know which wonderful woman in our company has managed to tempt you. I hope you’re as good at lying as you are at everything else.”

“They call you pure.” Tristan dared, voice going hoarse from the strain on his neck “If only they knew. Little sodomite.”

Regaining himself only slightly his hands left his side for the first time. He reached up and cupped the back his Galahad’s head, gentle pressure pulling his lips back down onto his. Again, it was brief but it was enough.

The smile finally broke Galahad, consuming his entire face, and God he was radiant.


End file.
